


Message

by Silversonne



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Death of the Family (2013)
Genre: Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Missing Scene, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24587608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silversonne/pseuds/Silversonne
Summary: This is the translation of my story - https://archiveofourown.org/works/23267977R-E Translator: ladyxenaxWas he really eager to give up being a jester and become something more for his king? He didn’t know but surely wanted to find out.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne, Joker/Batman
Comments: 15
Kudos: 13





	Message

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Rafael Izuru for helping me to create this story. And I want to thank the translator for this amazing job :)))
> 
> Author deliberately uses Bruce and Batman separately, because there are thoughts that one can have but the other cannot; there are feeling and emotions one is capable of and the other cannot allow. 
> 
> The inspiration for this work comes from these two fanarts:  
> [](https://ibb.co/SV7tw8K) [](https://ibb.co/BrT44FP)
> 
> Origin version of second picture - https://ibb.co/BrT44FP

Rain has been scratching the glass for four days already. Lazily, as if with reluctance, wet moonlight crawls into the room, projecting the growling and grinning shadows on the floor. As if it is neither wind outside the window nor rain pounding on the puddles that are their companions but living spirits of the broken chairs, boards and window frames. 

Warmth of an unfamiliar palm wraps and chains the fingers in tight white gloves. Ice is melting, water is running down the interweaved hands like a waterfall under their feet: the one who is always dressed in black and the other who wears black only for today to match his partner, usually favoring a different color. Black cloak and black three-piece suit. Hot hands and icy melting hands. Pressed lips and half-open mouth. Hot breath through black mask and irregular breath through white. Head is spinning from the heat, as if there aren’t any barriers between their faces, neither white plastic with clownish patterns, nor pitch black, black like the night.

True colors are misleading. It’s difficult to watch them and not distract. Masks are better, hiding things eyes can’t see.

He isn’t looking. It is dark and hot. In front of him and so close (cannot be any closer), there is his best partner who needs to be constantly held in place, very tightly, for him not to get away and disappear in the night. Nobody can be trusted when it comes to his king. Until the king bids forever farewell to his stupid mask of the knight which does not suit him at all. Because His Majesty has his jester who’s ready to do everything for him, and his heart is broken from pain, that’s how jesters are. They are not sent to die on the scaffold, not made to be heroes or enemies. They are poisoned behind closed doors or stabbed silently behind dark curtains, in the dark corners of the palace smelling of death and fear. But the jester does not mind, as long as it’s king’s will. No matter if the jester is loyal or a traitor.

Knights are not supposed to have jesters.

Two masks almost touch each other but there’s fiery avalanche of the liquid metal pouring from the eyes of the black mask and dissolving white plastic. White mask begins to scream — it’s blood-curdling and scary — and screams until he wakes up. Until the man hiding behind it realizes that his eyes are now always open. Wind is beating the windows and rain is scratching the glass. His face is burning because real disgusting and deadly tears are flowing down his cheeks, gnawing at his damaged face. Joker jumps from the bed and starts looking for wipes and eye drops. He hisses angrily sponging up his face.

“Damn bat… Go to hell!”

He flops down on the bed, cursing himself because he can’t beat Batman even in his own dream. Why the fuck is that bat so approachable?

“He thinks I’m cruel to him. I will prove that I’m also…” Joker chokes from anger.

Something has been bothering him. He’s been so close to the secret. Big crazy fucking deal, just a shot five miles underwater, hanging on the boat — and he would know everything about the bat. But instead of following, he stopped and turned back. He was afraid that familiarity would break the magic of their “dates”. King has to be the king no matter what. Especially for the court jester. Even naked king is still the king. But the king without his mask, in his bedroom, wearing his nightgown — he is not a king. He can be anyone else — a lover, husband, father, but not a king. It’s easy to betray a king like this and he doesn’t want to betray his. 

Joker bit his finger. Was he really eager to give up being a jester and become something more for his king? He didn’t know but surely wanted to find out.

♥♥♥

“Joker…”

Little by little, his senses are coming back to him. Batman is sitting on a large chair. Shapeless whirlwind is spinning in front of him but gradually it stops and turns into… a man straddling his lap. Batman clearly feels the heaviness and now can see the repulsive form right in front of him. He wanted to push it away but his hands have been tightly tied behind his back. He yanks his hands twice but no luck. He realizes that a strong rope and a tricky sailor’s knot hold his wrists. Tricky, because a sailor’s knot is not supposed to be like this, too many loops. That damn lunatic keeps himself safe to the uttermost.

Batman tries moving his legs but they fail to obey him.

“Batsy, don’t… My drug is effective. Lower part of your body is completely numb… well, not exactly. Don’t panic, it will pass. You feel everything, after all, and this is the most important thing. I have to admit, I was worried that I overdosed you, but no, everything is perfect. 

His face, spread in a lopsided grin, is beaming. Batman can’t help but gasp, having seen him at such a close range.

“What’s up? Did I scare you? Did you already forget scaring the shit out of me at the chemical plant? It’s a draw, Batsy.”

“What do you want?” Batman growls and realization hits him that this time is worse than anything he can remember. He’s screwed. He’s gotten into a trap. Joker’s trap. “Where are we?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions. Though I get used to my king often being slow-witted and naive.”

“Don’t play game with me…”

“Then what?” Joker lets out a flirty chuckle.

Batman shakes his head, chasing away a vivid recollection of Joker’s wink. He would surely do it now but the jester does not have eyelids now. 

“Oh, Batsy, I’ll tell you everything…” Joker stretches out, pleased, and makes himself comfortable on Batman’s lap. 

He puts his left elbow on Batman’s shoulder and plays a bit, tracing sharp ears of the mask with his fingers. With his right hand he reaches behind his back, trying to take something from his hip-pocket. Batman looks down: there is a small hammer covered in rusty stains hanging on Joker’s belt, nasty-looking pliers, a pair of short knifes, scissors, a shank and a long corrugated knife with barbs.

“Are you going to torture me?”

“Of course not, what are you saying! Why? What so important do you know for me to drag it out of you with extractors? Ha-ha. Can you believe that I have them too? Over there, found them and took from some weirdo. So funny, right?” Joker points to the corner of this God-forsaken shed or whatever… Batman can’t tell for sure where he was taken. Lighting is too dim and the room is unfamiliar, as if it has been renovated many times before. 

“Are you laughing your head off, Joker?” Batman tries to move his hands and succeeds a bit. 

“Wait, you’re distracting me all the time. I have something for you. A message.” 

In a swift movement he takes a card out of nowhere. The card is… 

Batman cannot see what it is, because Joker quickly takes the hand away and puts the card on the floor with back side up.

“You can have a look later, my dear. Why are you so tense? Let’s talk. Do you mind?”

“Do I mind? I’m God knows where and God knows why…”

“That’s it. Shh…” Joker presses his index finger to Batman’s lips. “Do you remember the lioness that gave birth to a mutant?”

He doesn’t wait for a nod and goes on, ignoring a death glare in Batman’s eyes. 

“I adore this creature, she is wonderful. And her lion cub has two heads. Just like us. You and me in one body. It’s so crazy. I wanted to have this little kitty. Look, over there” .

This two-headed creature that Joker has been talking about so enthusiastically is sleeping peacefully not far from them, languidly twitching its tail and sniffing the air. Its whiskers are constantly moving but it appears nothing interesting for him is going on.

“Behave, Batsy, unless you want this little kitty to bite you.”

“It’s a cub, Joker, it has to be feed by its mother. Why the hell have you stolen it from the zoo? It can die.”

“Yuck, damn your concern. The strong always survives and becomes stronger when something goes in the way. But we’ll talk about it later, not today. I still have so much to do for you.”

“What are you planning, Joker? Stop beating around the bush. Why did you drag me here?”

“Ah yes, I remember now, my dear. It’s not the right question. If I tell you why, there’s no meaning. You have to think for yourself. What is the right question? Think, Batsy, it’s easy-peasy!”

“What are you going to do?”

“Buuh, batty-boy!”

“I’m not your batty-boy”. 

“Come on, don’t be so nasty. I’m older than you and yes, you’re my batty-boy. Well, OK, I will help you.”

Joker’s finger touches Batman’s cheek and traces the contours of his face. Batman does not believe his own senses. Joker is not hurting him; his touches are careful and really gentle, not forced.

“I will…” Once again, he touches Batman’s lips and —

“ …help…” traces his finger to the side and up, to the edges of the mask. 

“ …you.” Joker’s other hand is still resting casually on Batman’s shoulder.

“The right…” Joker exhales in his face, and a wave of sweet smells attacks Batman: the nice odor of chocolate and vanilla, as if Joker has recently eaten a cake, and the disgusting stench of dry rotting skin.

“…question is…” His right hand is sliding down Batman’s back and —

“…why…” stops at the lower back area and —

“…do you…” checks the ropes and just happens to touch the tied wrists.

“…need…” Batman’s hot fingers are in his grip, and Bruce is hit with a realization that the sick bastard took off his gloves while he was out. And maybe… the mask as well! Took off his mask, looked at his face and put it on again!

“…to be…” Joker’s hand crawls under Batman’s cloak, caressing his lower back along the belt, and —

“…here…” presses Batman’s thigh, checking his reaction and then playfully tracing a swear word — his finger writes widely and tickles. Bruce clenches his teeth because Joker has brushed against a sensitive spot, and – 

“…with…” returns to Batman’s face again to pinch his cheek playfully.

“…me.” And then Joker licks his lips. Slowly and it feels damn good. Damn dirty. Damn wet and humiliating.

Batman growls, leaning forward. He’s urging to bite Joker, as he cannot punch his arrogant mug. He wants to bite him as hard and painfully as possible so that Joker will not dare mock him anymore. And Batman nearly succeeds. Nearly. Joker backs off in time and presses his index finger to Batman’s nose. 

“Be-e-ep!” Joker rolls with laughter. “Got you.”

Joker’s pupils widen. By chance Bruce catches this moment and now he is watching these large black circles contracting again. He’s tensed up. Anything can come after this joking “be-e-ep” — he could get a punch in the face and have his arms twisted or his mask taken and his face cut off. Sticky fear for himself, his family and Alfred clenches his chest. Fucking crazy pathetic freak! For sure, he looked under his mask and now he knows, knows everything about him and people who are dear to him. Lost in his thoughts, Bruce misses the moment when Joker has stopped laughing and now, he is staring sharply and deadly serious. Like a prisoner in the tiny cell, a shadow of disappointment is thrashing over his mutilated scary face, forever frozen in a grin. This spectacle is so phantasmagoric and wild that a wave of pinching sensitive wave of spasm crawls along Bruce’s back.

“Come back to me.” Joker blurts out, clenching his teeth, though he looks as if he’s satisfied with the bat’s reaction. “It’s rude, Batsy. You’re my guest and you think about fuck knows what. Or whom.”

But the train of thoughts cannot be stopped. After the fear comes guilt. He’s blaming himself for everybody who has suffered because of him. For... Batman tries to banish this thought but fails. This man sitting in front of him has been constantly trying to prove something to him. Since their very first meeting he’s been telling him something and tried to show as he could. As they say, he even let the Puppet Master cut off his face without anesthesia so that Batman would understand some great idea of his about masks and true faces. Is it more madness? Or total loneliness?

“Joker…”

“What, my dear?” Again, his voice is soft and smooth.

“Why did you do it?”

“What?”

“I’m not taking about today. That thing…” Batman pauses, unable to find the right words.

“What are you taking about?” Joker is puzzled and tensed, as if waiting for a catch or a trap.

“Well… your face… why have you mutilated yourself?

“Ah, this thing… I just wanted to be your equal. You take off your mask, I take off mine. You put it on, me too. I don’t have any other mask. You know, it looked different when I was ordinary… well, ordinary someone, and then it became like this. Black and white, we belong together like the night sky and the moon, like… the stars and the pond, I guess. I’m not good at poetry but I reflect you. And you? Though to be fully honest, Batsy, sometimes it’s damn inconvenient, when you have no skin. It drives you mad. Most important is to keep your hands off, but I don’t regret it, no. If you want, I’ll take off my mask but you’ll have to take yours. Though I’m not ready yet. Do you believe me? No, I’m not ready. Not sure if I want to enter the king’s bedroom today, so I’ll just make you feel good on your throne. Ok? Pleasure over war. You just don’t understand… You’ll feel weak with me and realize that this is it. The others, who corrupt you, stop you from being the king, my one and only…” His suffocating voice suddenly brakes by the end of the monologue. 

Batman is looking at him with bated breath, feeling his neck, face and hands flushing after hearing these words from Joker. 

“Stop looking at me like this” Joker loses it. “Your pity is disgusting. Don’t hurt me like this.”

Bruce thinks Joker is going to hit him. At last. Because a mixture of anger and primeval resolution flashes in the psycho’s eyes. But instead of thunder — a punch, a knife wound, a twisted arm or whatever else the crazy freak could think of — Joker half-raises and hugs Batman, touching the top of his head with the mutilated mouth, right between the mask ears. Batman feels the tremor emanating from the body that is pressed to his. Small, at first, then gradually increasing. Joker is shivering, maybe from rage or disgust towards the useless pity. Or from love? Deeply abnormal, feverish, possessed, wrong love. Love which is out of place and irritating. Sincere, as genuine as Alfred’s care. Scary as parents blind love. And hauntingly alluring.

“Let me go!” Bruce breaks, feeling his inner child writhing in hysterics. This child desperately reacts to sincere affection, terrified yet longing for it stronger than anything else; he is afraid to acknowledge, accept and lose it. 

The trust he used to see in Joker’s eyes is sweeping him like a waterfall. But now Joker trusts him with something more than crazy desire. He is exposing his real self hiding under the mask of insanity that long ago became a part of him. Who is hugging him now, so madly, yearningly affectionately? Bruce does not want to know yet he knows.

He screams. “Let me go! Enough! Fuck off!”

“Hush, hush…” Joker’s whisper makes Bruce feel goose bumps all over his body under the Batman’s costume. His groin disgustingly twitches.

“Do I have such an effect on you?” Joker asks cunningly through slitted eyes.

And pressed against him even closer. Palms slide down Batman’s back to his tied hands. Joker tries to force them apart, sticking his fingers between them. But he fails, because Batman has no intention of holding them. 

“Why do you have complicate things?” 

“Complicate what? What are you taking about you sick fuck?” Batman wants to bring back the familiar Joker at any cost and thinks that offensive words will be the best way. 

“You are crazy bat-shit sick fuck! Do you have to be spoon-fed? I will cut your fingers off and will sew them down on my own if you are not going to take my hand!” Joker flares up and does not move an inch.

Batman wants to grin but Joker suddenly cools off and adds, as if nothing happened, in the same soft voice: 

“Please, my dear.”

And Bruce gives up. After all, it has to end sooner or later. So let it be sooner. 

Joker stops shivering, as if he’s lost in the touch, and relaxes, even still with his gloves on.

“Don’t you want to take off your gloves?” Bruce asks sarcastically.

Joker looks at him in surprise, thinking over the odd offer. He shakes his head.

“You’re weird…” Bruce sighs. “How long are we going to be like this?”

“Wait a little bit, and then Gotham will be forever free from me and you. And you will be free from your own fears of getting to know the real me.” Joker is sure that deep down Batman does not want to know anything about him, the same as he does. It is their irreversible rule, the guarantee of balance between them: one kills — the other saves. The jester guards Arkham for the king — the king guards Gotham for the jester.

“What the hell are you taking about?” Bruce is immediately on the alert; he grabs Jokers fingers who tries to jerk away but fails.

“Let me go, Bats…” he hisses.

Bruce somehow manages to grasp the glove and pull it, twisting his hands to an uncomfortable painful position. 

“Didn’t take you for a prude.” Bruce growls and keeps on pulling. 

“Ah you, nasty bat…” Joker tenses up and pushes Batman, jerking his hands off at the last moment. He swoops Batman, preventing them from falling. “The King isn’t supposed to behave like that.”

“Why the hell you keep on…”

“Shhh, shhh… It means shut up. Or I’ll get angry and nasty. And I tried so hard to be different with you. To be real”. His pupils widen again. 

Bruce swears because he does not want to but keeps on seeing adoration in Joker’s green widening eyes. Adoration for Batman’s hand being out of his reach, for resistance, for the force he had to apply to let go of the grip. Joker worships Batman for his strength that he cannot control and tells him off not for real but out of sheer habit. Because Joker likes to argue, object and be on guard all the time, riding the wave of their… love. Bruce screws himself for having such a thought. Joker is just a crazy lunatic and psycho sadist who likes…

“…I have a bomb in my chest.”

“What?”

Joker’s last words hit him like an electric shock. Everything around rings and melts.

“What did you say?” Bruce tries to remember what Joker was talking about a minute ago but to his horror realizes that he missed everything. 

Joker sighs, fidgeting on Batman’s lap, and repeats with patience: 

“I planted a bomb in my chest.” 

“What have you done?” Bruce thinks he’s hallucinating. It takes time to think over what he has just heard. 

“You and me, our last day on Earth. Will you hold my hand?”

“Are you frickin’ insane? What have you done to yourself?” Bruce is looking at Joker’s face, attached to the muscular tissue, distorted in happy grimace, and understands — this guy could rip up his chest with his own hands and…

His heart is painfully beating against the ribcage, again and again, like a bird of prey caught in the trap of his body. Bruce feels as if he is going to suffocate from pain. Not his pain. It must have hurt so much… What for? For him? Joker has lost his mind. Totally, with no way back. Bruce does not know what he wants more — to beat him to death or… to hug. So that the damn psycho would calm down and never try to do something like this again. So that he could not harm anyone else or himself.

“Joker…” Bruce calls him in a quiet voice and catches his breath, trying to keep calm and clear-headed. Everything can be fixed apart from death, and they both are still alive.

Somewhere behind them, the sleeping lion cub stretches out. It is lonely and sick of all the attention, probably hungry and bothered by loud voices. Both heads roar and yawn, then the cub falls asleep again. 

“Yes, my dear?”

“Where is the bomb?”

“It’s in my chest. But you’ll have to get it yourself. Well, you know.”

“Unbutton your overall! Quickly!”

“No, you unbutton it yourself. If you’re so eager to have a look.” Joker laughs and moves closer, then adds eagerly: "Well?“

“Be damned! Why can’t you normal for once?” Batman grumbles. 

He exhales and tries to pull himself together, then reaches to the blue overall made of thick fabric. At first, he takes one button in his teeth, it was hell of uncomfortable. Then he tries to use his tongue, at last, the button gives way. The second one, lower, follows. By the fifth button fabric becomes wet, as well as white cold skin; his lips and tongue are touching it, this is disgusting and thrilling at the same time. Bruce does not know why he is nervous — whether he’s angry at himself for being so stupid as to get caught (and he still can’t remember how Joker managed to catch him) or because of humiliation, or…

Not feeling awkward in the least, Joker grins, looking pleased, and demonstrates how nice he feels. He keeps on fidgeting, propping his right hand on Bruce’s thigh which makes everything even more uncomfortable, because the cheeky psycho is sitting not on his lap but much higher. 

Bruce is breathing heavily. This simple action gives him a lot of troubles. He catches the fabric with his teeth and pulls away to open the smooth white chest covered with goose bumps. There is nothing — not a single trace of cut, wound or scar. Bruce bites the other side of the overall and pulls to the right. Nothing.

“And where?..”

“Beeep!” Joker presses the index finger to Bruce’s nose once again and bursts out laughing. “You fell for it. Again. How many times has it been, Baaaats? Do you remember? I’ve lost count. Love so much!”

“Snotty sonofabitch! Just let me go and I…”

“What? What will you do? Tell me and maybe I will untie you.”

Joker really thinks it over for a split second. For a moment he is eager to untie Batman so that he would touch him but Joker knows it won’t happen that way. As soon as the ropes fall down, Batman will make him knuckle under and… Or maybe not? Not today? Joker even whines from heartburn. It is so sad that the king can move in any direction but on one field only, only on the chessboard. To be embraced by Batman is somewhere beyond their game.

“Do you really want me so much?”

“Of course, I’ve always wanted.” The confession is easy. Joker is sad, and the beast inside of him has already started going nuts because of the abrupt mood change. 

“Forget about it, bastard.”

“What are you taking about? What should I forget about?”

His face flushes, Bruce tries to move away but Joker pulls him back slightly, as if pushing him forward, and Batman follows.

“You…” Bruce stops short, realizing that he is missing the point and flushes even more. Joker flips to the laughing mode again. 

“Ha-ha-ha, did you think that I… want… to have sex with you? Really? You think so? Ba-a-atsy… You’re a cute and naïve boy. Sometimes.” Joker gently pats his chin.

“Hands off me!” Mentally kicking himself from anger, Bruce chokes. How could he fall for this so easily? Where’s that damn stupid idea come from? Why did he… 

“Why are you so rude? Coming to your senses already?”

“I don’t…”

“I know, you’re afraid to admit that you’ve really thought about us… hahaha… in that sense…”

“I’ll rip you apart as soon as…”

“Batsy, you’re in no position to threaten me. Shh… Be silent.” Joker pulls Batman’s head and presses the finger to his lips again. And licks his lips, again. Quickly. But Bruce does not fail this time.

“Ouch!” Joker screams. “Stop biting”.

“Lay off me then!”

“You’re so angry and so serious. That’s very you, Batsy. What should I do with you? So, the answer to your suspicion and… desire…” he chuckles, “I didn’t plan anything like that. Not today.”

Bruce deliberately ignores Joker’s last words. 

“So why are you touching me like this? Everywhere?”

Baffled, Joker looks at his hand caressing the bat sign on Batman’s chest and tracing its contour. He stops and consciously slowly moves his finger to the center of the symbol and presses very strongly.

He looks at Batman with glazy eyes and does not see him, thinking only about one thing: is he ready to become something more than just a jester? Playing a jester has been enough for him. Until that ill-fated dream. Until today, when Batman showed sympathy towards him for the first time: being resentful and awkward yet saving him from a make-believe bomb. Feeling empathy, hurting him with his pity. Such pity is not meant towards strangers. Joker stares at the bat sign, knowing the answer which he does not like. Because it may destroy their familiar and convenient world. The world Joker is ready to come in terms with.

“I just… want to be your family… and when one is family… it’s ok to touch, I’m not doing anything bad…” Joker comes to his sense and adds: “You’re driving me mad! Baats… When I untie your hands, will you hug or beat me?”

“I will hug you.” Bruce grinned. 

“I don’t believe you.” Joker lets out a fake sad sigh. “Sometimes even family members have to lie…”

“We are not family.” Batman firmly draws a line: the game oversteps all the reasonable boundaries. Though what reasonable is left here and now? “You will never be my family. I already have one.” 

“You don’t have any family!” Joker loses it. His face is distorted by anger and annoyance. “Your little sidekicks — they do not count. I will be your family.”

“No.”

“It’s a lie, you don’t think so.” For the first time since the beginning of their strange conversation, despair is heard in Joker’s voice. 

Joker gets nervous, he’s shaking again, in a different way. His left hand, that have been resting on Batman’s shoulder, now is clenching his thigh like a falcon clawing his prey. It hurts. He is really hurt. Batman sees it in Joker’s eyes, how they turn dark and wet. He thinks that Joker will lose it and turn into a monster. His fingers are gripping into Batman as if they want to crash, break and destroy.

Something starts barking under their feet. The lion cub is jumping and swirling around, and barking at both of them, feeling that something is wrong. Awaken from its dream, disheveled and ugly, it resents not having been feed and being pulled out of its dream, left alive and laughed at by hundreds of alike voices. Here, in damp semi-darkness, it is quiet, and these two have broken it as soon as the cub believed he could sleep well. 

“Go away!” Joker hisses, having come to his senses. “And you, Batsy, are not thinking, because you haven’t seen what family I can be. But don’t worry, I’ll show you. The best show for the best king that needs the help of the best jester in the world. My help. And now… sleep.”

Batman wants to answer. To calm him down? Maybe. To hurt even more? Or bring hope and say something kind. Joker managed to overcome himself. Batman has missed the chance to sort out his feelings at this cursed moment, as if from another world. He wanted to but failed. Pungent smoke odor hits him in the face — he misses the moment when pepper mace appeared in Joker’s hand. Will it put him to sleep? Or… The lion cub is still barking but the sound gets quieter and goes faraway. 

Silence has fallen over the world. Everything is dark again, and only a wave of laughter from faraway reaches him like a flash of supernova from the other galaxy travels to Earth in the form of the faint flame of a ghost star, burning and dying in the pitch-dark Gotham sky. 

It's all quiet now.

On the floor, next to Batman, there was a card with the backside up. A king of hearts with hearts painted over with a black marker. The wall clock is ticking, counting the time left for Batman to sleep. Neither Joker nor the lion cub are in this old abandoned at the outskirts. Batman can sleep soundly and see a dream where some invisible hands are gently touching his lips, then slowly going down his arms to enclose his hands in an invisible embrace. Nobody could disturb or hurt him at the moment, because a man has been sitting outside on the old lopsided stairs. The sad slouching man with a strange two-headed creature in his arms. He pats one fluffy head, then the other, and keeps on waiting until ten minutes is left and gas will lose its effect. After then he will disappear in the darkness, so easily, like the lights of the Gotham cars over the horizon. 


End file.
